


I Found

by PumpkinWitch000



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, POC!Harry, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Racism, Romance, Sad Ending, Slave Era!AU, Slave Trade, Soulmates, Tragedy, eternal love, sick!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinWitch000/pseuds/PumpkinWitch000
Summary: Set in an Alternate Universe where there is no magic, yet still plenty of prejudice and hatred. Draco Malfoy is sick, weak, useless, a disgrace of an heir. When he earns a punishment for daring to disobey his father, he makes an unlikely friend in the Manor gardener Harry. A passionate love blossoms in a world that refuses to accept them. Harry and Draco have always found each other through time, again and again. Yet not all stories have a happy ending . . .





	I Found

**Author's Note:**

> I AM WARNING YOU NOW: THIS ENDS UNHAPPILY  
> Okay to address the elephant in the room, this fic deals with very sensitive topics. This is no way a fic I'd claim accurately represents the era it was based off of nor should it be taken too seriously. I've been seeing a lot of POC!Harry art lately and I really liked it. I can definitely see Harry as black, especially with the way he was described. I wanted to write a forbidden love story and that lent itself well to it. This ends tragically because that at least is accurate to the time. This was written on a mere whim at first and then 10k words later here we are. Please don't take this seriously, it's really not meant to be.  
> You've been warned. If you're still going to read, then I hope you enjoy!

The sky was a dull white-grey, so thick with fog that it looked like he was inside a cloud. Around him mist flowed and ebbed, visibility only a couple dozen feet. The earth was springy under his body, clovers and tiny purple and white flowers littered the earth, reeds only a couple inches from his toes. Ants were crawling a path across his ankle where his trousers didn’t quite meet his socks, but he didn’t mind the tickling sensation. The air was clean, the taste of wildflowers and river water on the breeze. The gentle rush of the stream was the only sound in the stillness around him.

 

Raindrops speckled across his milky white skin, his lips a faint blush as he gasped. Every breath made his lungs ache and heave. His toes dug in the mud, barefoot and filthy. Once perfectly slicked back hair was now spilling across his face in white gold strands. He had more dirt on his clothes than he’d ever had in his life. And he was _happy_. He took a shuddering gasp, nearly translucent lashes fluttering open to reveal pale irises. Shouting in the distance made his heart begin to pick up speed. His father would be furious.

 

“Are you okay?!”

 

An unfamiliar rough voice with an accent he didn’t hear often. Draco lifted his head and saw patched trousers and bare feet. Their skin was startlingly dark, a colour he’d only seen once in another pureblood. Oh his father was going to be _thrilled_. His lips gasped, attempting to form words but the fog was filling his mind. He couldn’t breathe. Strong arms were picking him up and he was engulfed by the scent of smoke and sweat. It was oddly comforting. Waves were washing over him, pulling gently at him. His mind finally let go and he sighed, his body going limp in the man’s arms.

 

-0O0- -0O0- -0O0-

 

“Wake up.”

 

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his father’s voice. He regretted it immediately, light stabbed at his eyes like needles. As the room swam into focus he realized they were in his bedroom. Slightly peeled cream and coffee coloured wallpaper, old scuffed furniture, and a ceiling fan that wafted cool air across him. He could hear the sound of birds through the thrown open window. A maid was shuffling around with some medicine, her freckled face hidden behind ginger hair. Draco put it off as long as he could, but he had to meet his father’s eyes.

 

Lucius Malfoy was an intimidating man. His platinum hair was often tied back in a long ponytail that spilled down his back. He wore nothing but the finest clothes made of rich materials. When he spoke rooms went silent and servants flinched. His voice was cold, crisp, and utterly devoid of empathy. Lucius did not have friends, only allies. Draco knew for certain his father would easily trade him away if need be. Life was a great chess game and his father was determined to be king. As silver eyes met silver, Draco had to repress the urge to shiver.

 

“What were you thinking?” Father asked quietly, his voice menacing in its calmness.

 

“I went for some fresh air,” Draco said, “I didn’t expect to have an attack.”

 

For a moment his father closed his eyes, before saying, “Did I give you permission to wander the grounds?”

 

He shook his head, “No, but-“

 

“If I did not give you permission to wander the grounds then _why did you do it_?” His voice was cold as ice. Draco clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

 

“I wanted some fresh air,” Draco said calmly.

 

White hot pain bloomed across his cheek and his head snapped to the side as the back of his father’s hand struck him. Sparks danced across his vision and he remained very still, a flush staining his cheek. He could hear his father breathing heavily. The maid had stopped moving completely and her head was bowed in servitude. After a few moments of silence his father spoke.

 

“You chose a day on which you knew I’d be entertaining guests, on a day you knew your maid would be out, and you tell me you ‘wanted fresh air’?”

 

“I’m sorry, Father,” Draco said quietly, his eyes focused on a scuff on his wardrobe.

 

Lucius’ voice grated, “ _Look at me Draco._ ”

 

He turned his head slowly. Lucius could have been carved from ice, there wasn’t anything but disdain in his eyes. Draco shivered and he watched his father’s nostrils flare as though scenting his fear. Years of abuse and never being good enough rose up between them like walls.

 

“You will not leave your room for the next ten days, except to use the washroom. I expect you to excel in your studies. If you need anything speak to one of the maids. Do not disappoint me again Draco,” Lucius said.

 

“Yes, Father,” He said, his voice quiet and even. For a moment his father stared at him, before snorting and turning on his heel. He strode from the room, slamming the door behind himself. Silence fell over the room. Draco raised a hand to his throbbing cheek and tried to ignore the hurt that ran a lot deeper. The girl finally began to move again, measuring out a glass of ruddy brown liquid. It stank of herbs and something sharp.

 

“Please drink this, sir,” She murmured, holding out the glass.

 

Draco eyed the glass, “What is it?”

 

She seemed surprised at the question but answered quickly nonetheless, “Medicine, sir.”

 

He took the glass from the girl and wrinkled his nose at the smell. It really was putrid. No doubt his father would be back though if he didn’t drink it, and that thought alone was enough to make him swig it back. The liquid burned his throat as it went down and little bits stuck to his teeth. He couldn’t help but choke, his eyes watering. It was disgusting. The entire while the girl remained standing at the end of the bed, her muted brown eyes focused on the bedsheets. Draco cleared his throat and she looked up.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Ginny Weasley, sir,” She said carefully.

 

He handed the glass back to her, “Tell the doctor to make it taste better next time, Weasley. That was vile.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

She left after that, the door closing behind her with a click. Draco was left in his room alone staring out the window. The world outside was vague shapes in the fog, night rapidly falling. His lungs still ached in the after effects of an attack. He loathed his body that made him so weak, so useless. Pillows were piled around him and soft blankets kept away the chill. As he watched the world go dark, he listened to the sound of nightlife drifting through his window.

 

Crickets were calling out to each other and the croak and hum of frogs came from the river just a while away. Occasionally an owl would hoot, the feathered hunter stalking for prey. It wasn’t perfect however. He could hear the sounds of talking and shouting coming through the house. Wooden walls weren’t enough to keep away the drunken singing and laughter of the men his father entertained. He hated them, with their vulgar humor and cruelty.

 

A snap sounded directly outside his window and he froze. Draco stared out into the twilight, every nerve on edge. He slipped out of bed and padded over to the window. A shadow loomed up suddenly and he choked on a yell, falling backwards. The shadow instantly began making hushing noises and waving his hands frantically. As the light of his beside lamp hit him, Draco realized he was in fact not a shadow, but a person.

 

To say he was well built was to put it lightly. Muscles covered his body, every movement showing off the well-toned flesh. His skin was the purest ebony, warm and tight over muscle. Draco couldn’t help staring it was so different from the men he was used to seeing. His clothes were rough and torn, even the material didn’t look very comfortable. A mess of obsidian curls fell around a handsome face. Startlingly clear emerald eyes met silver and a chill went down his spine.

 

“Who are you?” He demanded, his voice coming out a lot higher than he wanted.

 

“I’m Harry,” The young man said, “I didn’t mean to scare you, honestly. I just- I found you passed out by the willow and I wanted to make sure you were okay. They won’t let me in the Main House so I had to climb through the window.”

 

Draco stared at him, “You don’t look like a pureblood.”

 

Harry grinned sheepishly, “Probably ‘cause I’m not one. I work as a gardener on the grounds.”

 

He tried to think back to any gardeners named ‘Harry’, but it wasn’t like he made a habit of memorizing the names of the staff, “If my father found you he wouldn’t be pleased.”

 

“Lord Malfoy doesn’t like a lot of things,” Harry replied with a tight lipped smile.

 

Silence fell between them for a few moments before Draco said, “Thank you. For finding me.”

 

“No problem,” Harry said, “Nearly gave me a heart attack to be honest. It looked like you were dead.”

 

He smirked at that, the thought a bit amusing despite the situation. Harry caught his eye and grinned as well and for a moment everything was fine. “What is it like out there?” Draco asked, gesturing to the window, “What are the gardens like?”

 

Harry sat on his desk chair and said, “You’re a Malfoy yet you haven’t seen your own gardens?”

 

A flush crept across his cheeks, “It’s not my fault! I’m allergic to bees.”

 

The dark skinned man snorted at that, but his next words were warm, “You’re missing out. There are so many flowers you wouldn’t believe it. Lady Malfoy is very particular about her roses, she has all sorts of species imported. However the rest of the grounds also have separate gardens and that’s our job to maintain. I like the poppies, lilies, and daffodils but there’s a whole ton of different types. Ron, he’s another gardener, is a big fan of the tulips but he’d never admit it.”

 

Draco slowly relaxed in the presence of the man, enough to sit on his bed while Harry spoke animatedly about his work. He was slowly realizing that he was lonely enough to crave any company, even a gardener’s. It was better than the maids who were terrified to speak out of turn and the nobles who dropped lewd comments about his feminine features and weak condition. Harry’s accent was nice, even if he did use phrases Draco was unfamiliar with, and he had beautiful eyes. The gardens he spoke of sounded wonderful, Draco couldn’t help but be wistful for them despite the dangers.

 

“You care for them with Ron?” Draco asked to clarify in a break in the conversation.

 

“Not just Ron,” Harry amended, “He’s one of the gardeners but there’s also the Botanist Neville. He’s a pureblood.”

 

Draco could vaguely recall a pureblood visiting him a few times named Neville. He had tutored him briefly in botany, although Draco doubted he’d ever use the skill. “I wish I could see the gardens, they sound beautiful.”

 

Harry grinned, “I’ll bring you some flowers to see. Ones without any bees attached.”

 

Draco found himself smiling as he said, “That’s an acceptable arrangement.”

 

They spoke a while longer but then the floorboards outside the door creaked. Draco’s head snapped towards the door as it opened. The maid Ginny had returned, a tray held in her hands. She didn’t look surprised however and Draco looked back to find his room empty. He smirked a little and accepted the food from the red haired girl. Steaming stew was in a bowl alongside with some cooked greens. The smell was mouth-watering and he immediately picked up the spoon.

 

“Thank you,” Draco murmured to Ginny as he began to dig in.

 

That did make her look surprised, and she smiled, “You’re welcome.”

 

-0O0- -0O0- -0O0-

 

“It’s a lily.”

 

“I know that,” Draco sneered, but his voice was breathy with wonder and it just made Harry’s lips twitch into a smile.

 

The flower was the most vibrant colour he’d ever seen. It glowed orange like fire in the sunlight spilling through his window, stripes and specks of deep purple scattered up and down its petals. The bulb was slender and the petals curved gently outwards like a star. Its scent was sweet yet also spicy like cinnamon. Draco pressed his face close to inhale and yelped when Harry promptly made it bop his nose. Flushing, Draco withdrew his face to find Harry smiling.

 

“Careful,” He warned teasingly, “You might get freckles, Malfoy.”

 

Draco scoffed, then softened and said, “Don’t call me that. Call me Draco. I hate the name Malfoy, it reminds me of my father.”

 

“Did your father give you that as well?” Harry asked gently, brushing the tips of his finger across his cheek. Draco trembled under his touch, goosebumps rising. A black and purple bruise covered the side of his face, even the top of his lip had cut open and swollen up. His lashes fluttered shut and he leaned into the touch.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Harry’s voice was flat as he said, “Your father is a bastard.”

 

Draco moved towards him as he withdrew his hand, craving the contact. Harry hesitated for a second and then moved closer, cupping the side of his face. For a moment they looked at each other, Harry’s eyes an endless green garden. Draco could feel his heart thumping in his ears and his palms were sweating. Their breath was mingling and he was finding it hard to breathe for entirely new reasons. Harry’s lashes really were beautiful, long and thick like strokes of ink. He had gorgeous lips, plump and wet where his tongue darted out to dampen. Draco felt his breath catch in his throat as Harry’s fingers drifted across his cheek and down his lips. For a moment he thought he would kiss him. He didn’t know why the thought of that was making his heart race.

 

“You look like a startled bunny,” Harry said softly, a grin hiding behind his words.

 

“Sh- shut up,” Draco snapped much less sharply than he intended. It was hard to be rude when he could barely catch his breath.

 

Harry brought the lily up so the petals brushed against his lips. They were firm yet incredibly soft and Draco felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Do you like the lily, Draco?” Harry asked.

 

“It’s beautiful,” He breathed, the scent of lilies making him a bit lightheaded. Harry was evoking a reaction in him he’d never felt before. His legs were shaking on his chair, his heart was attempting to beat out of his chest. It felt like an attack only not because he knew it wasn’t illness but nerves. Butterflies had made their home in his chest. He felt like he was free falling.

 

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry said, a smile playing around his lips, “It’s one of my favorites. I cultivate them around the library. My mother often spent her time in the library when she worked here.”

 

“Your mother worked here?” Draco asked in interest.

 

Harry’s eyes hardened and he was no longer looking at Draco, “Yeah, she worked here as a maid.”

 

It was obvious there was more to the story, but the stillness in Harry’s voice made him lose his nerve. Draco fished around for something to say before settling on, “Did you grow up around here?”

 

At that Harry laughed. It was a broken and bitter sound full of sharp edges and anger, “Yes. None of us are from here. My mother was brought up from the south and put to work when she was just a girl. My father was named James and he was mixed so he might as well have been fully black. Lord Malfoy took us in when the Potter homestead was burned to the ground.”

 

Draco felt a flush of shame go through him. He knew the truth about the ‘servants’ who worked the Malfoy Manor grounds. His chest tightened and he found himself utterly lost for words. What could he say to that? Harry’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, “I’m not asking you to apologize for your father,” He said softly, “I don’t blame you for what they’ve done.”

 

Harry captured Draco’s hand and wove between his fingers. Harry’s hand was rough with calluses and warm to the touch. His own fingers looked fragile clasped in the bigger hand and he felt a flush of embarrassment. They sat in silence for a few moments, no words adequate to fill it. Outside the sound of hammering could be heard. Summer heat filled the room like a stifling blanket. “Your hands are warm,” Draco murmured, flexing his fingers a bit.

 

“Your hands are cold,” Harry replied wryly, giving him a squeeze.

 

Draco felt a flush stain his cheeks and he nearly pulled his hand back, “It’s because I’m always sick. I have a weak body.” He hated to say the words, could feel the self-hatred in his own voice.

 

“Have you always been sick?” Harry asked curiously.

 

He stared at the lily as he spoke, “Not always. When I was younger I could play with the other kids. Once I hit eight years old my condition weakened until it got this bad.”

 

Harry mulled that over before he plucked the flower back from him and moved across the room while saying, “Keeping you locked in this dreary room won’t help at all.” The dark skinned man threw back the curtains and made sure the window was open wide as possible. He fetched one of Draco’s vases, placing the lily in it after removing withered roses. It added a considerable spark of colour to the room. “That’s better,” Harry said confidently, “I’m going to bring you more flowers until your room is less depressing. How long until your father lets you leave your room?”

 

“Forever,” Draco said grumpily, “I’m not even allowed in other parts of the house for the next nine days. It’s not like he lets me leave normally though.”

 

“Hey,” Harry warned, “Don’t be rude. It’s his job to an unredeemable asshole.”

 

Draco laughed at that, unable to help himself. Harry grinned and returned to his chair by the bed. They both admired his handiwork for a bit before eventually the taller man sighed. Harry ran a hand through curls and said, “I have to go. They’ll notice if I’m gone too long.”

 

He felt a twinge of regret, “Oh.”

 

Harry grinned at him, “I’ll be back, Draco, don’t worry. If I’m not back tomorrow, the next day for sure.”

 

“Promise?” Draco asked tentatively, feeling somewhat childish.

 

His smile glowed, “Promise.”

 

-0O0- -0O0- -0O0-

 

Draco turned slowly, his father eyes watching his every move. He felt ridiculous in the clothes he was wearing. His trousers were form fitting hide and he had been given a soft silk shirt that opened slightly at the top. All the frills were completely unnecessary! The maids had fussed over him for nearly an hour before presenting him to his father. Lucius sat on the couch, a glass of wine in hand as he watched him with critical eyes. Draco couldn’t help the self-hate that washed over him. _Not good enough_.

 

“You’re presentable,” His father said finally, “The Zabinis are coming over tonight and I expect you to dine with us.”

 

Draco nodded mechanically, “Yes, Father.”

 

His father stood up and began to walk past him, stopping right at his shoulder. Lucius leaned in, his voice a sneer, “Do be sure not to touch them, Draco. The dirt won’t wash off.” He continued past with a whiff of expensive incense. Draco watched him go, a fine tremor running through him. Years of prejudice inside of him battled against the hard facts in front of him. Harry did not have pure white skin but his heart was the purest thing Draco had ever seen. There was nothing dirty about their friendship. His father’s voice whispered in the back of his head like a poisonous snake, _disgusting_. He walked back to his room mechanically, every step heavy. When he opened the door a blast of floral scents hit him and he felt the stress seep from his shoulders.

 

His room had been quite literally reimagined. The tiger lily sat proudly in its thin, yet tall vase. Beside it was a basket of marigolds, splashes of red, gold, and orange. Draco had received flowers nearly every morning for the ten days he’d been confined to his room. Bluebells and violets, along with wildflowers he didn’t know were arranged in a bouquet in his window. Creeping ivy were strung across his curtains, tiny teardrop snow white flowers in bloom down the vines. Flowers spilled across every surface available. Harry had brought him five poppies one morning and they sat in silence with them, no words needed. All of those memories hit him every time he looked at the various blooms decorating his room.

 

Draco went about his studies, quill scratching quietly against paper. Outside his window he could hear the hum of summer insects and random bouts of dog barks. The air was warm and sweet with the scent of flowers and he found himself relaxing into it. He felt safe, like Harry was holding him. Yesterday they had sat with Draco in Harry’s lap, arms entwined saying nothing. Draco inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, lost to his mind.

 

The Zabini’s were purebloods from Italy. They had wealth from the gold thread in their cuffs to the string of jewels around Lady Zabini’s neck. She was a slender and proud woman, her eyes liquid onyx. Rubies glittered from her ears and when she smiled her teeth were blindingly white. Her laugh was warm and rich, electing a response from even his father. The son on the other hand was silent, his eyes calculating as he watched the evening transpire. Blaise Zabini was his name, he was around Draco’s age. He had the same rich olive skin and dark eyes that his mother did, but his features were intimidating and mysterious where she was laughter and light.

 

“This is my son, Draco,” Lucius said, welcoming them to the dining room with Draco at his side, “I apologize he couldn’t meet you at the gate. His condition is not very well.”

 

Lady Zabini smiled, “Of course, no worries, Lucius. This is my son, Blaise. He is about the same age as Draco.”

 

Draco eyed Blaise, and Blaise eyed him. A silent conversation flowed between them and Blaise smirked. Draco felt himself bristle but they were being redirected to their seats. To his annoyance he was seated directly across from the moody Italian. Maids set various slabs of meat and puddings, cakes, and fresh bread on the table. Draco shifted uncomfortably as he realized Blaise was still staring at him. He didn’t like the piercing stare, it was like his mind was being read. He served himself a few carrots, corn, and peas alongside his mashed potatoes and gravy. The food was thick and rich, soothing his hunger.

 

“Tell me about your work, Carmela,” Lucius said after they had made it through the appetizer.

 

Ms. Zabini gave him a warm smile, “It’s not very exciting work. Science is trial and error, and much too often than not it’s error. We’re currently establishing a new type of medicine that may cure fevers more efficiently.”

 

He laughed and said, “Surely that is the work of doctors?”

 

“You will find that science is more effective at curing wounds than ill trained quacks are,” She replied easily, her smile suddenly challenging.

 

For a moment there was silence before Lucius tilted his head in acknowledgement, “You may have a point.”

 

Conversation turned back to safer waters and Draco tuned out his father’s long winded lecture on the importance of preserving heritage. He placed a pea between his teeth and bit down, feeling the green ball pop and turn into mush. A sharp point of pain was forming in his temples and he wished he could lie down. Wistfully he thought of his room filled with his secret garden. Dinner couldn’t end soon enough. Blaise eventually gave up staring at him and turned his attention elsewhere.

 

Desert finally came around. Rich thick puddings came in all different flavours alongside grape and strawberry jelly. Draco picked at a flaky pastry while he waited for his father to dismiss him. It was filled with a sweet jam and covered in sparkling crystals of sugar. He had finished two before his father had given him a subtle nod and called for the whiskey. Standing carefully, Draco excused himself from the table. He made his way into the hallway and started towards his room. Unfortunately, he was not alone he quickly realized.

 

“Draco,” A voice called, an unfamiliar rich accent, “Wait up.”

 

Draco turned to see Blaise Zabini strolling up the corridor behind him. He felt a flash of irritation and snapped, “What do you want?”

 

The Italian man held up his hands, “Woah, cease fire. I’m not here to hurt you.”

 

“What do you want?” Draco repeated, his tone less hostile.

 

Zabini smirked, “A bit of your time.”

 

Draco hesitated before nodding curtly. He continued down the hallway with Zabini at his side. It was irritating to see that Zabini was both taller and broader than him. The man walked with a quiet grace, gold glittering at his ears. When he brushed close enough Draco got a faint whiff of cologne. They stopped in a seating room and Draco sat in one of the armchairs. Zabini sat down on the couch and kicked his feet up.

 

“You didn’t seem very happy to be enjoying dinner with your dear father,” Blaise remarked, his voice casual.

 

“Neither did you,” Draco replied coolly.

 

Blaise grinned at that, “Touché, I will concede I wasn’t in the best of moods either. Admittedly I had been predisposed tonight with a pretty lady, but my mother insisted.”

 

A faint blush touched his cheeks, “I see.”

 

“Have you ever slept with a woman?” Zabini asked, curiosity colouring his tone.

 

Draco stared at him indignantly, “No! Wh- you- why are you asking me that?”

 

“It’s just a question,” Blaise said innocently, “Of course it is interesting that the Malfoy heir is reaching his seventeenth birthday and hasn’t bed a woman.”

 

A flush of cold went through him and his voice shook with anger as he said, “Get out.”

 

Zabini didn’t move, “I’m just saying. You’re a handsome guy, although handsome isn’t really the word. I’d say you’re more beautiful like a swan. Slender and pale.”

 

“What do you-“

 

“If you haven’t bed a woman,” Blaise murmured, “Have you bed a guy?”

 

Draco’s face was so red he could feel heat coming off it in waves. For some reason he couldn’t get Harry’s face out of his head. “No!” He snapped and began to stand.

 

Zabini watched him go; he could feel the dark stare on his back the entire way. He did not like the Italian heir one bit. Draco blew into his room and slammed his door behind himself, shaking slightly. A small snarl ripped out of his throat as he tore his shirt off. He kicked off the uncomfortable trousers and stood in his room in his briefs. His body _was_ slender and pale, no scars marring his milky skin. It made him frustrated how pathetic he was compared to other men. He tugged on a night robe angrily and crawled into bed.

 

He lay in his bed seething for a long while. Over and over he heard Zabini’s voice laughing at him. Sleep with a man? Bloody fucking- He cut the thought off, trying to stay calm. It wasn’t fair that the man could come into his house and ask such crude questions. Draco ignored the tiny part of him that pointed out that sleeping with a man wasn’t an entirely terrible idea. As long as that man had green- he cut that thought off too.

 

-0O0- -0O0- -0O0-

 

The sun was just beginning to rise as Draco sat by his window. He was dressed in a warm knitted jumper with a cotton undershirt and loose trousers. His feet were fitted into new hiking boots and his blond hair was slicked back smartly under a cap. Butterflies kept fluttering around in his throat. Minutes ticked by and his brain could only run in circles as he watched the first copper rays of sunlight spill over the horizon. He heard a snap then a low grunt and backed up as Harry heaved himself through the window.

 

Harry was dressed starkly different from Draco. He was wearing a thin cotton shirt that covered his biceps in a way that made Draco much too breathless. His trousers were made of rough faded material and had been patched several times. When he looked at Draco a grin split his face and Draco smiled back a bit sheepishly.

 

“I know I overdressed,” Draco began awkwardly.

 

Harry hushed him, putting a finger to his lips, “You look amazing Draco. Better to be over prepared than underprepared.”

 

Draco felt his face heating up and quickly turned his head to the side, “S- so are we leaving now?”

 

“Yep, your father just left in his carriage,” Harry said, pulling back and grinning, “Neville won’t be in for another three hours so you’ll get to see the greenhouses.”

 

Harry climbed back through the window and dropped to the earth below with a muffled thump. Draco pulled himself onto the windowsill and felt his heart beating in his throat. The empty room behind him was safe, but he wanted to go out into the unknown. He leapt off the edge and his feet hit the ground hard, the impact shuddering through him. Draco let out a startled huff and stood up carefully. Harry was watching him with a smirk playing around his lips.

 

The sky was glowing with pinks, oranges, and powder blues as they walked across the grounds. Small trees offered low hanging fruit. Harry showed him where the best peach tree was, offering one of the soft fruits to Draco. He accepted and bit into it, sweet juice exploding in his mouth. As they walked up to the west wing of the manor he hastily wiped his sticky hands and tossed the pit in the grass. Harry walked beside him, the backs of his knuckles occasionally brushing his arm. He kept a running commentary of the areas they were passing.

 

“Over there is the Garden of Fountains. They keep a lot of water lilies there alongside various glowing algae. We’re coming up on the patch of tulips Ron recently planted. They’re white and red, purity stained by passion,” His voice lowered thoughtfully as they came up on the patch of tulips. The rows of flowers were almost completely white but it looked like blood had been spilled where the red variety grew. Harry broke one off and offered it to Draco, his body going down in a ridiculous bow.

 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, his cheeks turning pink.

 

Harry grinned up at him, not rising out of his bow, “A flower for a beautiful man?”

 

Draco took the white tulip, his heart hammering erratically. He realized with a surprise that it wasn’t a pure white flower. Veins of red had bled across one of the petals and he stared at the splash of colour. Had Harry seen it? His cheeks warmed at the directions where his thoughts went related to ‘passion’. He coughed awkwardly and said, “Thank you.”

 

They continued the trodden path to the greenhouses. Harry showed him the vegetable gardens and the private rose gardens Mother kept. The greenhouses were at the farthest corner of the manor, their glass glittering in the early morning sun. Draco followed Harry inside. He was immediately hit with a wave of heat and the smell of fresh earth and greenery. Rows upon rows of pots were lined up where the plants could be taken care of. Harry listed off the various species while Draco stared around in pure wonder.

 

There were weeds that cured warts, berries that could be mashed to create poultice, and grass that billowed smoke when burned. Draco lingered by the various mini tomato stems, their fat red bodies bursting with colour. There were tiny flowers shaped like stars, every colour of the rainbow in primroses, and Draco couldn’t help straying over to the small buds of freesia. A flash of yellow and a low buzz made him freeze. He could hear Harry mutter under his breath and slowly edge him away from the approaching bee. Draco couldn’t do it, couldn’t breathe as he backed away.

 

“Shhh, it’s okay Draco,” Harry whispered, like he was a frightened animal, “He won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt him.”

 

Draco took a shaky gulp and held perfectly still. The bee flew right by, settling a few yards away on a red flower. He let out a breath and felt his body relax slightly. “They’re so fuzzy,” He remarked, watching the fat little bug collect pollen.

 

“They help the flowers spread and thrive,” Harry said, “The fuzz is to help the pollen stick so they can spread the pollen to other flowers.”

 

He nodded, and listened as Harry began to explain to process of pollination. For some reason the words that seemed so boring in text were alive on Harry’s tongue. Draco found himself watching his lips, the way they moved as he spoke. He had a habit of scrunching his nose up on certain words. The blond wet his lips and looked up to find green eyes staring at him. Any words he could have said fled him, he just stared. Harry leaned in and their lips brushed against each other, their breaths mingling. Draco gasped and pressed forward.

 

The kiss was everything he’d been imagining and more. Harry quickly took charge of the motion, pushing it past the hesitant brush of lips into something deeper. A vein of pure fire had awoken in Draco as their tongues moved together. He breathed in the smell of smoke and he melted against Harry, their bodies fitted perfectly together. If it never ended he would be happy forever. Nothing but the rush of his heart in his ears, the gentle smell of flowers, and Harry’s arms wrapped around him, resting clasped at the small of his back.

 

Finally Draco pulled away, his face flushed as he gasped and panted in an undignified way. Harry looked rather windblown himself, his lips swollen and his eyes bright. For a moment they stood in silence before looking at each other. Harry’s lips quirked up into a grin and Draco couldn’t hold back the smirk. They kissed again, slower this time and more leisurely. Draco acquainted himself with the taste of Harry’s mouth, the feel of his big palms running up and down his back. He was confident he would never forget his first visit to the greenhouse.

 

-0O0- -0O0- -0O0-

 

Summer days gradually grew shorter, a chill beginning to come down from the mountains. Lucius piled even more subjects on Draco’s shoulders and the heir found himself leaving his room less and less. Most of the flowers were going out of season and Harry couldn’t risk taking from the greenhouses. He did however always bring Draco a single white lily every time he visited. No matter how the blond pestered him he refused to reveal the secret of where he grew them. The moments they spent together were a balm to Draco’s mind and heart.

 

Rain whispered against the surrounding trees like a gentle roar. Draco sat by his window, an ancient textbook in hand as he watched droplets speed by. His eyes returned to the paper and he began to read. Time slid by slowly. The rain continued to pour and eventually Draco no longer saw the paper in front of him. With a thump the book fell to the floor and Draco slumped in his chair fast asleep. He remained that way until something hit the window with a loud tap. Gasping in surprise, he shoved his chair away from the window.

 

Draco peered out and saw a sopping wet head of curls and a cheeky grin. He scoffed, but hurried to open the window anyways. The roar of rain became deafening as Harry launched himself into the room. His clothes were soaked but he looked quite pleased with himself to have made it inside successfully. The roar was cut off to a hum as the window was closed.

 

“Morning, Draco,” Harry said brightly, “I see studying is going well.”

 

Draco huffed, “You try studying twenty-four seven and see where it gets you. I’m lucky to get any sleep at all.”

 

“Feel like taking a break?” Harry asked.

 

He tilted his head slightly, curious despite himself, “What do you have in mind?”

 

“Have you ever met the Weasleys?” Harry asked, “They’re a family of white slaves shipped over from Ireland. I know their youngest works in the Main House as a maid, and Ron is a gardener like me. Molly Weasley is the house cook.”

 

Draco nodded, “I’ve met Ginny. She waits on me usually.”

 

“Ginny is a good girl,” Harry said warmly, “She’s always up for playing football with Ron and me. Do you want to come visit their quarters with me? They don’t have much but there’s a hot meal in it for you and good company.”

 

Draco glanced skeptically out the window. It was raining heavily and he didn’t quite fancy being soaked to the bone. “I don’t know, it’s raining pretty hard,” Draco began.

 

“Scared of a little water?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

He flushed, “No! I was just _concerned_ is all. I’ll go.”

 

Harry grinned at him and pulled him against his chest. Draco yelped as he felt the water seep through his shirt. He opened his mouth to complain but then Harry was kissing him and he had no complaints at all. His lips were so incredibly soft, his tongue powerful and sure as they moved together. Harry always tasted faintly of mint and Draco knew the man must go out of his way to chew extract. Kissing him always made Draco breathless in a way that made tingles run down his scalp all the way to his toes.

 

They broke apart but Draco didn’t leave the circle of his arms, his heart thundering wildly. Harry placed his face to his hair and breathed in deeply. After a couple moments of silence they stepped away. Harry went out the window first. Draco climbed up after him and leapt into the air. His foot hit the ground and slid in mud, he didn’t have time to do anything but yelp as the world spun. A strong arm caught him, pulling him upright again.

 

“Careful,” Harry said, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

 

Draco flushed and mumbled thanks. Rain pelted them as they walked to the store area of the house. The earth became rockier and less elegant, replaced by dirt and rock, but it was no less beautiful. A vegetable garden seemed to have gone wild and a small slightly run down building sat surrounded by tulips of every colour. Harry led the way past bushes filled with dripping leaves, Draco following quickly. They were completely soaked when Harry knocked on the door to what a sign proclaimed ‘The Burrow’. The door swung open and Draco was immediately knocked flat on his ass by a black _thing_.

 

He realized exactly two seconds later that said thing was a dog. It was a very big dog with an untameable mass of midnight fur and a slobbery pink tongue. He lapped at Draco, knocking his head back into the mud. Bloody fucking- Harry was laughing, not helping him with the stinking brute standing on him. Draco snapped.

 

“Get this bloody thing off!”

 

Harry whistled and barked, “Snuffles!” The big dog immediately got off of Draco, taking care to walk across him with muddy feet. The blond heir pulled his head out of the muck, groaning as he felt globs of mud clumping his hair. He was going to kill it! Draco struggled to his feet, his clothes completely filthy with mud and soaking wet. He had gone from cute lover material to a creature of the swamp in seconds. A faint pink tinged his cheeks and he promised himself the prickling at his eyes was just some stray dirt.

 

“Sorry about that,” Harry said, which wasn’t very convincing as he petted the brute, “Snuffles doesn’t like people from the Main House very much. They’re always harassing Ginny.”

 

Draco held back his irritation, accepting the logic of the statement, “If it keeps her safe, by all means.” Nevertheless he gave the dog a good glare and made sure they were absolutely clear where they stood.

 

“Oh my, well, why don’t you two dears come inside?” An unfamiliar female voice said warmly. Draco turned to see a red haired woman who Ginny bore a remarking resemblance to. However this woman was middle aged and she was plump in a motherly way. Draco couldn’t help the immediate surge of trust he felt, this woman was nothing like his own mother. He followed Harry through the door while plucking globs of muck from his hair, and got his first look inside The Burrow.

 

It was very rustic, was Draco’s first impression. A heavy slung table was in the center of the room, chairs clustered about. A red haired young man was seated there, ginger waves obscuring most of his face. He looked up when they entered, his gaze zeroing in on Draco. The look on his face was carefully neutral. A pin could have dropped in the silence.

 

“Bringing the prince to the pigsty, what a shame Harry,” An older red head remarked from where he was standing at the door to another room. His face was twisted like he’d seen something revolting.

 

“Bill!” The motherly woman snapped, now resembling more a sabretooth tiger, “Don’t let me hear you saying those words again! Draco is our guest.”

 

The red head just snorted and disappeared into the other room. Draco could feel the fine flush covering his face, the angry tears that stung his nose. He was so fucking pissed, he wanted to rip into the stupid ginger. But he could feel Harry watching him. The blond took a deep breath and tried to relax his face into something friendly. By the way Harry was glancing at him and snickering louder and louder, he doubted he was succeeding.

 

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered in his ear, hot puffs of breath tickling the fine wisps of hair, “Bill is a complete git about this stuff. Ignore him.”

 

Once again Draco found himself reddening indignantly. His voice was entirely loud as he spat, “So what? Is it because I’m a faggot or because I’m white and you’re not? Both?” His voice cracked and broke off. He was furious.

 

Harry kissed his head, “He’s a git. It doesn’t matter which it is because he’s nothing but a prat. And don’t use that word.”

 

Draco stiffened himself up and settled on glaring at the floor. There was a lot of dirt on it. He supposed sweeping probably didn’t rank very high when they worked obscene hours. A small ember of hatred for his father burned in his chest, beside it an equally large bud of disappointment.  He wished things were different. The motherly woman startled him out of his thoughts as she pulled him into a tight hug.

 

“I’m so sorry dear,” She said, squeezing him so tightly it felt as though his ribcage might crack, “I’m afraid Bill has become quite angry in his adult years. Don’t take his pessimism to heart. We don’t all think that way.”

 

She released him and beamed at him. Draco flushed uncomfortably, a little embarrassed by her enthusiasm, “Thank you, Mrs. . .”

 

“Oh, Molly Weasley, sweetheart. I’m a mother to all these fine young men,” She said, gesturing to the remaining redheads in the room. Draco was startled to realise they had increased. The wavy haired man had somehow multiplied, an identical man was seated beside him. A taller redhead had also entered the room, he was grinning at Harry in a knowing way. His hair was a shaggy red cut that went halfway to his shoulders and his eyes were vibrant blue.

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco said, smiling a bit stiffly, but she beamed back warmly all the same.

 

“Good to see you, mate,” The tall redhead said to Harry, his grin was bright, “I see you’ve managed to get your lovebird back to the nest. I’m Ron, Ron Weasley,” He added, addressing Draco.

 

Draco nodded, “Draco Malfoy. You grow very beautiful tulips.”

 

Ron grinned and his ears turned red, “Thanks mate.”

 

“How about I make you dears some tea and biscuits? You’re much too skinny Draco dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, bustling over to the woodstove. Draco flushed slightly at the mention of his weight but he followed Harry over to the table. Harry sat beside him across from the twins. Ron took a seat beside the twins, giving his brothers a warning look. The identical gingers just rolled their eyes at him before speaking.

 

“Didn’t expect you to bring back the Malfoy heir, Harry,” One remarked, his twin finishing with, “Good on you. Raise hell.”

 

“He’s nothing like his father,” Harry told them, smirking a bit, “For one he doesn’t have a ten foot pole shoved up his ass.” He looked at Draco, “This is Fred and George Weasley. If you can’t tell them apart, don’t worry. They do it on purpose.”

 

Draco inclined his head, “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“Pleasure is ours,” Fred said, “We rarely get visitors.”  


“Asides from Harry of course,” George added, winking at the dark skinned man.

 

Harry just snorted before saying, “You gits would get lonely without me. I’m the only one who puts up with your bullshit.”

 

Fred bowed his head dramatically, “And for that we shall be forever grateful.”

 

“So how long have you two been an item?” Ron asked casually, looking at Draco and Harry, “Something tells me Harry has been holding back. Didn’t expect the Malfoy heir to be the bloke he’s head over heels for.”

 

Draco flushed, “I- we-“

 

Mrs. Weasley bustled over to the table, “Ronald! Give the boy some peace, he just got here. I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready.” She smiled at Draco, offering him a plate of biscuits, “Biscuits dear? I’m afraid they’re not quite what you get in the Manor, but-“

 

“They look delicious,” Draco said quickly, giving her a small smile, “I would love some.”

 

She beamed at him, “Oh thank you dear!” As she placed the biscuits down she continued, “Would you like anything to drink? Tea?”

 

“Tea would be good,” Draco said, “Thank you.”

 

“Would the rest of you like anything?” She asked the gingers and Harry.

 

There were three choruses for tea and then she was off again. Draco picked up a biscuit and bit into it. The texture wasn’t quite what he was used to, but the flavour didn’t suffer for it at all. His stomach grumbled and he realized how hungry he was. Harry smiled at him as he began to devour the biscuits. The twins and Ron had plenty of questions and Draco spent time answering them as best he could. Their lives were so different; both parties were interested in learning more.

 

Fred and George Weasley worked as stable hands, although they were much more interested in pranks. They had plenty of questions about the Manor and life in it. Draco explained his studies as best he could. The questions never slowed and soon he found himself having fun. Rarely anyone was interested in talking to him. The maids were too scared and his father’s company was definitely not an option. It was startling to realize how similar he was to the Weasley family.

 

Growing up he’d been led to believe that somehow slaves were inferior, that they deserved what they got. His father had made it seem natural, normal even. They weren’t people. The words his father had drilled into him hung around like a cloud of poison in his mind. Yet talking to the Weasleys was no different from an aristocrat, in fact in many ways it was better. Instead of false laughter and disdainful looks, there was mirth and genuine conversation. Ron didn’t hesitate to ask him every question under the sun, a few even earning him a whack from his mother. It was enjoyable.

 

By the time they left The Burrow the sun had already risen high in the air, peeking through holes in a thick cloud cover. A breeze rustled the bushes surrounding them and Draco absently plucked mud from his hair as Harry said goodbye. He felt strange, like something inside of him was fundamentally different. As he watched Harry rub Padfoot’s coat, he couldn’t help but ponder the feeling. What had changed?  Harry turned to look at him and he felt a shiver go through his body under the emerald gaze.

 

“I’m glad you came with me,” Harry told him softly. He patted the dog one more time before walking over to Draco and slinging an arm around him, “You did amazing.”

 

Draco scoffed, “Of course I did.” But there was no real malice behind it. Harry just gave him a lazy smirk and they walked back to the Manor. He was covered in mud and looked anything but the heir to an estate, but he couldn’t remember feeling so free. When he kissed Harry goodbye, he realized things had indeed changed, and it was only the beginning.

 

-0O0- -0O0- -0O0-

 

The next few days passed in a blur. It had started with a slight cough and then he felt like he couldn’t breathe one morning. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so sick. Every breath ached, his lungs wheezing and gasping for air as he lay in bed. He felt like he’d been run over by a bull and for a while time seemed to just flow by without really registering. The only thing he could comprehend was that he was probably going to die. In his fevered state, he could only feel exhaustion, hoping it would finally be over. Maids brought him medicine but he could barely force it down before he was falling back into darkness.

 

Sometimes at night he would wake to someone stroking his hair. The gesture was oddly comforting, he couldn’t remember anyone ever touching him so gently. He searched for that comfort when sun blinded his eyes and he forced down medicine during the day. The visitor never came during the light hours. Head pounding, he let time wash over him. If he lived, he wanted to find that stranger. He wanted to see their face and feel their touch, knowing them.

 

When he woke up that night, some clarity had returned to him. Draco groaned, his sinuses clogged as he tried to breath. Every lungful of air rattled in his chest and he began coughing as phlegm caught in his throat. Instantly hands were rubbing his hair back and pressed a cool glass of water into his hands. He drank the liquid gratefully, cool water soothing a path down his throat. When the fit passed, he looked up to find familiar green eyes.

 

“Hey, Harry,” He said sleepily, his voice scratchy.

 

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Harry said, his voice oddly thick, “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up for a while. Drink the rest of your water.”

 

Draco obeyed, sipping his drink. It soothed a thirsty itch and he began to piece together his memory, “How long have I been sick?” He asked, his voice coming out in a croak.

 

“Week and a half,” Harry said tightly. A prickling unease traveled down Draco’s spine, he wasn’t looking at him.

 

Suddenly anxious, Draco said, “What’s wrong?”

 

Harry shrugged, “Nothing.”

 

“I’m not an idiot,” Draco snapped, “I know when something is bothering you. Well, what is it?”

 

Harry finally looked at him, eyes flashing, “I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that you nearly _died_.” His breath caught on the last word and he took a deep breath before continuing, “The last week the only thing I could think is that I killed you. I killed the one good thing in this shit-hole and I just- I just-“ His breaths were coming in gasps and his frame shuddered.

 

Draco leaned forward, pressing his cheek against his neck. Harry shivered at the contact and Draco slid his arms around him. For a moment, the dark skinned man remained stiff, but then something seemed to break. Strong arms came around Draco and held onto him for dear life. Harry stuffed his face in golden locks, smelling his familiar scent. Slightly foggy, Draco basked in the attention. If this was some fever induced dream, he never wanted it to end. They held each other in silence, the only sound the calm beat of their hearts.

 

“I’m sorry for taking you out in the rain,” Harry said softly, running his thumb down Draco’s side.

 

“It’s fine,” Draco told him, “I had fun. The Weasleys are worth knowing.”

 

He snorted, “Pity you nearly died after meeting them.”

 

Draco grinned, nudging him a bit, “I guess their company is just to die for then.”

 

Harry squeezed him gently, his chest rumbling with silent laughter, “Yeah, it really is.”

 

Draco’s laughter turned into a coughing fit and Harry hurriedly laid him back. He piled the pillows up until Draco was nearly sitting. Chest racked with coughs, Draco couldn’t do much more than wait for the fit to end. When it finally did, Harry handed him a cup wordlessly. It was warm to the touch and smelled vaguely bittersweet.

 

“Honey-lemon tea. It’s good for the throat,” Harry said.

 

Draco took a sip, enjoying the soothing quality as he said, “Thank you.”

 

For a while they sat in silence in the darkened room. It was nice, soothing a hurt in Draco he’d nearly forgotten. His mother rarely went near him, in fear of contracting his sickness. She was a vain woman and being weak was repulsive to her. Father tolerated his presence, but rarely spoke with him unless necessary. Having someone just sitting beside him as he was ill . . . it made his eyes prickle. Harry’s form in the darkness radiated heat even from where he was sitting. Draco wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, but fear of being rejected made him stay his hand.

 

“I’m going to have to stop visiting you for a while,” Harry said quietly, startling him from his thoughts.

 

“Why?” Draco demanded. He needed him now the most!

 

Harry gave him a look before saying, “It’s not my choice Draco. Your father is going to know. You getting sick was a big red flag for him. He’ll be keeping a way closer eye on you. If he finds me . . .” He trailed off but both knew exactly what would happen.

 

“I hate him,” Draco whispered, shoulders hunched with disappointment, “He’s vile.”

 

“Some people are just rotten,” Harry said, his voice hard.

 

Draco laid back, staring at the ceiling, “I hate him, I hate all of them. They buy and sell human lives as though they’re cattle. It’s disgusting.”

 

Harry said nothing to that and silence fell. Draco could only think of the cruel things his father had done, the horrible prejudice he preached. Even now he could feel the young boy inside of him, the child that wept for the approval his father would never give. It was painful. Knowing that piece of him was going to die forever, it was oddly bittersweet. His Father had never been much of a father, but he still was the man who raised him. It appeared he was always going to be a failure in his father’s eyes. When he finally fell into sleep his dreams were chaotic and fragmented.

 

-0O0- -0O0- -0O0-

 

Harry kept true to his word. As Draco fought of the remainder of his sickness he didn’t see Harry once. It was for the best, but a small part of him ached for the raven-haired man’s familiar company. Days slid by and a chill came down from the mountains. On mornings the grounds were dusted in glittering frost and at night Draco used a heating pan. His Father didn’t bother visiting him and most days his only company was Ginny Weasley or one of the other maids.

 

On the first day of November, Draco awoke knowing he wasn’t alone. Turning over, he froze. His father was sitting in a lush armchair, glass of wine in hand. Morning sun shone coldly off his father’s platinum hair as he stared out the window. A sick feeling settled in his gut and for a moment he considered just pretending to sleep. As though sensing he was awake, his father turned and looked at him. A chill went down Draco’s spine at the look in his eyes. He looked . . . repulsed. As though Draco was slime on his boot.

 

“How was your rest?” Lucius asked, his voice carefully controlled.

 

Draco felt his heart hammering like a frightened bird in his chest, “It was fine.” His father didn’t make small talk, not with him. A feeling of dread was filling him and he tried to keep his face carefully blank.

 

“I wonder if you have anything to tell me, Draco?” Lucius asked, each syllable silky.

 

Swallowing hard, he said, “I’m sorry for getting sick, father.”

 

His father’s mouth curved down, a sign he was displeased, “I see. Perhaps you should get some fresh air, go for a stroll.”

 

The dread was turning into horror at the ice mask his father was wearing. His face was completely blank, so blank it was terrifying. Sweat snaked down Draco’s back and he held back a flinch as his father stood. Lucius crossed the room and left without another word. For a long moment Draco couldn’t move, fear paralyzing him. His heart was racing and his mouth tasted coppery. Almost mechanically he stood, a sudden sense of urgency behind his actions. Why would he need to go for a stroll?

 

Draco didn’t bother changing out of his sleep wear, he just half-jogged out of his room. Taking the nearest door out he was met with a harsh wind. It whipped around, tugging at his clothes and throwing his hair in his eyes. For a moment he was blinded and then his heart seemed to stop. The sky was thick with clouds rolling in, the last of the sun disappearing. Forests around the Manor were hissing under the onslaught of the wind. What held his attention however was the big tree on the grounds, a gnarled twisting oak with great stretching boughs.

 

He could remember very clearly sitting under that tree as a child. Once he even dared to climb up to one of the thick branches, laughing gleefully until his father had spotted him. Then he’d been punished. He could still remember looking up through the leaves and seeing the specks of blue sky, feeling so small under it. His vision wavered as he stumbled forward and he realized he was crying. There was something hanging from the tree, and he couldn’t breathe because it looked wrong. Somehow his feet carried him forward, buffeted by the howling wind. As he approached the tree his air was coming in shallow pants. He didn’t want to look at the familiar mess of obsidian curls, the dark skin that now looked ashy and rubbery. Like a wax doll, like he wasn’t _alive_.

 

Right there Draco lost his lunch, puking and heaving well after he’d emptied his stomach. His entire body was shaking with the force of it, and he _couldn’t_ look— _couldn’t bear_ seeing it. Horror made his mind oddly blank as though he was moving in a movie. His body was shaking with the force of the hatred that burned within him. He would _kill_ him! Draco looked at the broken form of H- him, once more before turning and jogging towards the house. By the time he reached the door he was panting raggedly, a stitch in his side aching. He took a moment to catch his breath before entering the house. His mind was oddly clear, one murderous goal shining forth.

 

In so many ways he’d been naive of the world. A spoilt privileged little boy, enjoying the pampered lifestyle built on the backs of others. He walked the familiar path to the kitchen, his breathing scarcely more than a whisper. Something inside him seemed to have died and he felt so cold it was a miracle he hadn’t shattered yet.  Draco entered the kitchen soundlessly, not bothering to turn on the light. His chest was aching with exertion, his body uselessly weak. Immediately he walked to the knife block, selecting a thick pointy knife. His teeth were nearly vibrating and his mouth tasted metallic. Everything seemed far away, disconnected.

 

The light flared on, momentarily blinding him. “What are you doing, Draco?” Lucius asked, his voice the same icy calm.

 

Draco turned slowly to see his father standing at the door. His heart was in his throat, everything was so slow but too fast. Lucius’ mouth was moving, words warping and warbled in the air. Crystal clear, Draco lunged forward, swinging the knife. Lucius grabbed his wrist, snarling at him and easily restraining him. Sound resumed and Draco found himself screaming in wordless rage, tears running down his face.

 

“You disgusting brat!” Lucius screamed, hatred in every word, “To taint your lineage in such a way, to _dirty_ yourself like a common animal. I should have drowned you when you were born! You’ve never been anything but a disgrace!”

 

“You’re a vile man,” Draco spat, every syllable shaking with rage, “You will burn in Hell Father,” He spit the word like a slur, “You’re nothing but a monster, a disgusting evil monster that will die choking on his own blood.”

 

With that he lunged forward with new strength. Sinking his teeth into Lucius’ arm, he dug in until his father let him go. He surged forward again with the knife, aiming for his neck. Lucius moved like a flash, rising up and grabbing him by the wrist. He squeezed hard and Draco screamed, feeling bones break. The knife fell to the floor with a clatter and Lucius plucked it off the tiles. His face was drawn with a terrible hatred as he looked at his son.

 

“I should have done this years ago. May you burn in Hell,” He snarled, no mercy in his voice.

 

Lucius stepped forward and sank the knife into Draco’s gut. Pain speared through him and he groaned, falling to his knees. He couldn’t catch his breath and his body trembled as blood dribbled out. Lucius had turned away, was walking towards the door. Draco closed his eyes, seeing emerald eyes on the back of his lids. A tear slipped down his face and he grit back a sob. Pulling himself up, he clutched at the knife in him. He wanted to puke with the overwhelming pain, but somehow managed to stumble forward.

 

A few steps from his father he grasped the knife tightly and tugged it out. It hurt nearly as much coming out and he barely held back a gasp of pain. Blood instantly poured down his front and his head was spinning. He sank the knife into Lucius’ neck, the man choking on a yell as blood filled his mouth. Draco continued to stab him, slicing and hacking at his neck with a frenzy. Tears poured down his face and shaking hands dropped the knife. His wound felt unbearably hot, but his body was growing cold. Everything was strange and fuzzy.

 

Laying on his side, blood pooling around him, he thought of Harry. Thought of his smile, his laugh, his eyes. As he lay there dying he could have sworn he smelled the familiar scent of him, felt his warmth. He wanted to open his eyes when he felt breath tickling his face, but his eyelids felt like they were made of lead. Maybe dying wasn’t so bad when he could feel his arms around him. Wherever he was going, if Harry was there it was where he belonged. Calming waves washed over him and he felt himself slipping away. Draco Malfoy did not open his eyes again.

 

_-Somewhere in a world several decades later-_

                                        

The shop door tinkled as another customer entered the store. Draco peered around the curtain, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of whoever it was. A black cloak was being pinned to his measurements and he thought rather smugly that they were the most expensive robes in the store. When Madam Malkins rushed in a young boy all thoughts of cloaks and Galleons fled. Most uncomfortably, he felt his heart lurch. Emerald eyes met silver and the world seemed to still. Somewhere in the deepest reaches of his soul, Draco Malfoy knew this boy.

 

“Hogwarts then?” He drawled as the boy hopped on the stool.

 

“Yeah,” The kid said, giving him a hesitant smile.

 

He smiled back and something warm and real existed between them in that moment. And so the story began, of two boys falling in love in a new world.

 

_-The End_


End file.
